


Crossroads

by Harleydoll



Series: Crossroads [1]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Demons, Calm Down Erik, Charles in a Wheelchair, Charles-centric, Crossroads, Crossroads Deals & Demons, Demon Deals, Demons, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is a Shark, Hell, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Past Torture, Protective Erik, Psychological Torture, Torture, X-Men: First Class (2011)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-12 16:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11741049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harleydoll/pseuds/Harleydoll
Summary: Charles didn't really expect it to work, but he was desperate. He remembered seeing it on some television show, where doctors and musicians and artists traded for talent, fame, prestige. But Charles didn't want any of that. He just wanted the pain to stop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a thing! It's been awhile, and this is a super old project, but I like how it turned out. (side note: this is entirely unedited, so I apologize in advance if it's still a little rickety). Crossroads lore stolen shamelessly from the Supernatural fandom xD

Charles didn't really expect it to work, but he was desperate. He remembered seeing it on some television show, where doctors and musicians and artists traded for talent, fame, prestige. But Charles didn't want any of that. He just wanted the pain to stop.

 

He didn't have any bones from a black cat, but he hoped one from tonight's roast chicken would do. He threw it into a wooden box the size of his palm along with last year's yearbook photo and slipped out the kitchen door, careful to close it without a sound. Not that anyone would notice; his mother was no doubt at the bottom of a bottle and Kurt's study was at the opposite end of the mansion. Charles followed the familiar trodden path to the family cemetery, stooping to grab a handful of dirt from one of the graves and throw it in the box.

 

“I'm sorry, Father,” he murmured. “But two more years of this is too much to endure.”

 

The road behind the property was gravel, easy to dig a shallow hole with his hands and bury the wooden box at the intersection. How long was this meant to take? Charles shivered. Even in his navy peacoat and wool scarf, the bitter November wind bit mercilessly at his exposed skin.

 

“Come on, come on.” He paced back and forth over the buried box, hugging himself to keep warm. He checked his watch. 2:37 am. Should he have done this at midnight? Would it have made a difference? Maybe he shouldn't have substituted the chicken bone in. “Maybe the stories aren't true after all,” he mused aloud. “I'm probably wasting my time.” He threw up his gloved hands in exasperation. “And now I'm talking to myself. Fantastic.”

 

“A little impatient, are we?”

 

Charles nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the voice behind him. He recovered himself quickly and turned to face its owner. The man before him didn't look like a demon at all. He was a head taller than Charles, clean cut in a deep crimson sport coat over a black turtleneck and pants. Charles guessed his age to be early thirties at the most, though if he really was a demon, he had to be much older.

 

“You're...not what I expected.” Charles ran a hand through his hair nervously, his eyes roving over the demon's chiselled jawline, strong, broad shoulders and tapered waist, admiring the the perfectly sharp lines and angles formed by the tailoring of his clothes.

 

The demon smirked. “And what were you expecting? Some hulking creature with horns and a tail? I'm not that kind of demon. But,” he continued, watching with some amusement as Charles dragged his gaze back up to meet his own, “I believe I am the one you want.” The demon's eyes flickered from grey-blue to pure black, with tiny, shining red specks glittering as they caught the moonlight.

 

Charles sucked in a breath and bit his lip. So it was true, then. He had called a demon, and an extremely attractive one at that. He took a step forward, drawn in by the bottomless black wells of the demon's eyes. “What should I call you?” he asked.

 

The demon shrugged. “It doesn't matter.”

 

“It matters to me.”

 

The demon raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to rationalize me in that perfect Oxford-bound brain of yours? Fine. If you must, you can call me Erik.”

 

“My name is--”

 

“Charles Xavier. I'm aware.” Erik sighed. “If we're through with the pleasantries, would you like to tell me what's so important that you need to trade your soul in? You've already got wealth, a girlfriend, and a bright future ahead of you.”

 

Charles unbuttoned his coat and lifted up his sweater, revealing a latticework of scars and bruises along the right half of his abdomen, some fresh, some still healing. He turned slightly, to show that they continued around and up his back. “They do this to me every day,” he explained as he rebuttoned his coat. “Either my stepbrother, Cain, hunts me down for his own amusement, or his father gets piss drunk and takes out all of his frustrations on me. I just...I just want it to stop. I want my house to be mine again, before Kurt finds a way to get rid of me and take my inheritance.”

 

“Alright. I'll make you a deal. That is my job, after all.” Erik circled slowly around Charles.“I will give you the means to get rid of them. But if you want it, you have to take it for yourself.”

 

“How?”

 

Erik grinned, shark-like and predatory. “There's a latent mutant gene inside of you. It should have activated at puberty, but for some reason, it didn't. I will activate it for you, giving you the power you need to set things right. And then your life is your own.”

 

Charles shifted restlessly from one foot to the other. “For how long?”

 

Erik stopped moving and faced Charles again. “You know, I like you. You're smart, you're straightforward, and you know exactly what you want. I'll give you...twenty years.”

 

Charles' eyes widened. “That's it?”

 

Erik shrugged. “That's double the standard deal. Everyone else gets ten. Take it or leave it, Charles. But just remember, if you think those bruises are torture now, Hell is a thousand times worse.”

 

“So in exchange for whatever my latent mutant gene is, you're giving me twenty years to live and the promise of eternal torture?”

 

“Did you think this would be easy?”

 

Charles shook his head. “Just...give me a moment.”

 

Erik glanced at his wrist, checking a nonexistent watch. “Make it quick. I've got other deals to make.”

 

Charles frowned, weighing his options. Logic dictated that it would be better to ride out the pain for two more years, until he was a legal adult and the Xavier estate became his.

 

“Going once...”

 

But on the other hand, he was also getting his DNA jump-started, and he couldn't help but wonder what was secretly coded inside of him. With those gifts, and Kurt and Cain out of the way, who knew what he could accomplish?

 

“Going twice...”

 

“Alright!” Charles interrupted. “I'll take it.”

 

Erik smiled lazily and strolled over to Charles. “Of course you will.”

 

Charles sucked in a breath, acutely aware of the close proximity of their bodies. “So, um, how do we do this? Do I have to sign something?”

 

“Not quite,” Erik answered, trailing his fingers down Charles' cheek. “Deals with a crossroads demon are sealed with a kiss. And all you have to do--” he snaked his other arm around Charles' waist-- “is say yes.”

 

Charles wasn't cold anymore. Far from it, in fact. He could feel the heat of Erik's skin burning through his layers of clothing, straight to his very core. He wanted this. Wanted _him._ “Yes.” The word was barely a whisper, and Erik's mouth was on his, warm and demanding, and Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's neck, pure desire taking over as Erik devoured him.

 

Charles was left panting for breath when Erik pulled away, distantly aware that something was now missing. He moved to embrace the demon again, But Erik stepped out of his reach. “It's not me you're missing,” he said, as though reading Charles' thoughts. “It's your years. The ones you traded away. Enjoy what you have left.” And then Erik was gone, as though he'd never been there at all. Charles shivered, any warmth having left along with the demon, and 20 years of his life.

 

He didn't feel any different, like anything had been “activated” inside him. Maybe it took some time to work. It wasn't as if there was a precedent for this sort of thing. His only reference point was a television show about brothers who made deals to bring each other back from the dead, not to alter their genetic structures. Though, he supposed as he trudged back up the path to the estate, reincarnation must have altered them at least somewhat on a physical level.

 

Charles locked the kitchen door behind him and checked his watch. 3:05. He'd still get about four hours of sleep before he had to be up again, if he wanted tea and breakfast beforehand. Mother would still be passed out, and Kurt was always up at 8am like clockwork. He kicked off his boots at the door and, quiet as a mouse, took the main stairs two at a time to his room.

 

~

 

The first few days were painful, more so than Charles had expected. He had to work to block out the voices of the household staff, the swirling disarray that was his mother's mind, and, worst of all, the cesspools of hate and rage within Kurt and Cain. School was another matter entirely. Crowded hallways and classrooms full of preoccupied adolescent minds plagued him at every turn. It took three weeks of dedication and practice to learn the ins and outs of his newly activated telepathy, and longer to really understand what he could do with it.

 

Certainly, he could hear thoughts, but could he manipulate them? Could he regulate other mental processes as well? The answer to both of these was yes, he could do all of this and more. He started small, just a simple _don't see me_ when Cain was headed his way, or a slight nudge against Kurt's mind when he moved to enter Charles' room at night. It became a habit of Kurt's to be walking down the hall, stop in front of Charles' door, and then forget why he had decided to come this way at all. Over the course of a month, Charles watched his bruises heal, his scars begin to fade, and for both stepfather and son to begin losing interest in him entirely. But it wasn't enough. His mother was still a miserable drunk, and Kurt was still in control of the Xavier estate.

 

Charles was surprised at what little effort it took to persuade Kurt that military school was the best option for Cain. _One down,_ he thought to himself, as the black sedan drove out of sight, Cain still cursing his father in the back seat. The next bit was harder. He stole into Kurt's mind, excising and rearranging until he was satisfied. The next morning, Kurt was gone before his wife woke up. He felt trapped, the note said. He needed to get away, to think. In the meantime, a lawyer would be arriving that week with divorce papers.

 

Mother was torn up, of course, and for that Charles did feel a bit guilty. But a trip to rehab that ended shortly before Charles left for Oxford seemed to alleviate her grief, as well as her dependency on the bottle. While Charles was writing his thesis, Sharon Xavier was starting over, far from the mansion that she said contained too many terrible memories. Charles was proud of his mother for making this choice without his influence, and with the estate and fortune now his, along with his newly earned title of Professor, it was time to set his own plans into motion.

 

~

 

“What is it this time? Have your newfound gifts fallen short of your expectations?” Erik was wearing that same black turtleneck from nearly ten years ago, this time with no jacket and sleeves tugged up to mid-forearm. His fingers trailed over Charles' shoulder as he moved behind him, the touch burning into Charles' skin like a brand despite the layers of clothing between them.

 

“Something like that,” Charles cleared his throat, trying to focus on anything but the demon circling him like a predator. “There are people out there. Mutants. And they need help.”

 

“You want to open a school,” Erik stared at him, his expression unreadable.

 

“I thought I was the mind reader.”

 

“You can't get into mine so easily. Tell me why.”

 

“There must be more of us out there. A lot more. And what I went through with my powers...” Charles shook his head. “There is so much pain, and fear, and confusion, both internal and external. I don't want anyone else to have to face that alone.”

 

Erik's eyes were still on him, and Charles shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. “You have ten years left on this earth, and instead of using your gifts to live the life you want, you're using them to help your own kind.”

 

“You don't understand,” Charles answered. “This is the life I want.” He could feel Erik in his head, delving deeper, trying to understand, and Charles let him. It was an odd experience, he thought, being on the receiving end for once.

 

“Alright,” Erik said finally. “I will help you.”

 

“What will it cost me?”

 

Erik shrugged. “Absolutely nothing.”

 

This time, it was Charles' turn to stare. “I'm sorry?”

 

Erik leaned into him, cupping the back of Charles' neck. “I like you,” he murmured against Charles' ear. “I like your devotion to your kind. You remind me of myself, in a way. And for that reason,” Erik pulled away and resumed his pacing, “I'm going to do you a favour.”

 

Charles exhaled slowly, attempting to suppress the shiver of arousal that threatened to course through him. Erik merely smirked, as if aware of his internal struggle.

 

“There is a young man by the name of Dr. Hank McCoy,” Erik continued. “I made a deal with him earlier this evening, to help him to control and understand his mutation. He'll show up at your door tomorrow, so that you can help him do just that. And in return, Dr. McCoy will use his genius to build you a machine that can amplify your powers and help you find mutants across the globe.”

 

“You would do that?” Charles was stunned. He'd expected to have to bargain away at least half of his remaining years, and what he wanted was just being handed to him on a silver platter. He grazed the edges of the demon's mind, searching for a hidden motive, but Erik nudged him back out.

 

“Now, Charles, that's cheating.” Amusement danced briefly across Erik's expression. “This is my offer. Take it, and you keep your remaining 10 years. Or don't, and trade what's left for a dream you'll never see fulfilled.”

 

“I...I don't know what to say.”

 

“Just say yes, and the good doctor will be on your doorstep in the morning.”

 

“Then...yes.”

 

“Excellent.” And the Erik's arm was around Charles' waist, dragging him forward into a deep, lingering kiss. “Mm. There's something different about you.”

 

Charles leaned into him for another kiss, and this time, Erik didn't resist. Charles took full advantage, pressing himself flush against the demon to close what little gap was between them. The touch of Erik's fingers seared into the small of his back, spreading that familiar heat like wildfire through his body until Erik abruptly pulled away.

 

“I'd better not see you again before your time is up,” Erik warned, turning to walk towards the woods. “You're a smart kid. Make good use of what you have left.”

 

“Wait!” Charles called, wrapping his arms around himself to keep the warmth in. “We didn't actually make a deal.”

 

Erik paused and glanced back at him. “No, I suppose we didn't.”

 

“Then why did you kiss me?”

 

Erik shrugged. “Because I wanted to,” he answered before disappearing into the shadows between the trees.

 

Charles stood for a moment, his gaze still fixed on the space where the demon had been, then smiled to himself and began walking back up the gravel path to the mansion.

 

~

 

“I told you not to call me again.”

 

Charles folded his hands onto his lap. “You didn't have to come.”

 

Erik circled him slowly, taking in the metal wheelchair in which Charles now sat. “Have you come to ask for the use of your legs, then?”

 

Charles started to answer, but Erik cut him off. “No, of course not. You were never that shallow. It must be something to do with this new school you've established. Nice work, by the way. A safe haven for mutants and your own team of crusading heroes? You have been busy.”

 

“The world needs the X-Men. Now, more than ever,” Charles met Erik's eyes as Erik came to stand across from him. “But you know better than anyone that I won't be around forever. Even now, like this, I'm not fit to lead a team into the field.” Charles gestured at his legs, covered in a navy blue fleece blanket.

 

“You've got that kid with the optic blasts leading the team,” Erik pointed out. “And a nice, well rounded senior staff to continue teaching after you're gone.”

 

“I want to know that they're all looked after. Many of them are still so young and inexperienced. Even for many of the staff, it's still touch and go. They need someone to continue to guide them into a better and brighter future.”

 

“Aren't you the optimist,” Erik smirked. At Charles' disapproving frown, Erik elaborated, “I speak from experience, Charles. Humans never change. The mutants at your school are far safer there than out in the world, and the ones on the streets are lucky to have your X-Men looking out for them.”

 

“Of course a demon would only see the worst in humanity.”

 

“Humanity is the worst of itself.”

 

“Nevertheless, I will continue to hope.”

 

Erik surprised Charles with a smile, soft and genuine. “That's what was different about you last time. Hope.”

 

Charles blushed and looked down at his hands. “Yes. Well. When you sell your soul, you start to see the world differently.”

 

“And yet, here you are again,” Erik replied. He paced around Charles' chair once more, thinking. “Alright,” he said finally. “You've got what, eight years left?”

 

Charles nodded.

 

“I'll take...half.”

 

“In exchange for what?”

 

“Your sister.” Charles raised an eyebrow as Erik continued, “Raven left a year ago, did she not? She thought you were too soft, that you were hiding from the world instead of fighting it. She has a son now, you know. A mutant, blue like her, but unlike her, that can't hide in plain sight. They've been driven out of each place they've tried to make home because of him.”

 

“She knows she still has a home here.”

 

“She's a proud girl, you know that, Charles.” Erik sighed. “Anyway, I know where she is. I will bring her here to you in exchange for half of your remaining lifespan.”

 

“Deal,” Charles answered immediately.

 

Erik held up a hand. “Wait. Are you certain you want this? You could have your full eight years and accomplish even more with your life.”

 

Charles shook his head. “My soul is already forfeit. I would rather know that my legacy is intact, that my dream will live on, and that my sister and her son are safe.”

 

Erik stared at him, unblinking. “You're really something, you know that? You sacrificed your entire life to make things better for everyone except yourself.”

 

“We both know that's not not true. My first request was entirely self serving.”

 

“No one would fault you for it, Charles.” Erik took a step forward and knelt down before him. “If this is truly what you want, I'll make the deal. But this is the last one. Take your last four years and _live._ Got it?”

 

“You seem awfully concerned about my well being,” Charles regarded him curiously. “Perhaps I'm not the only one who's changed.”

 

Erik looked down at the ground and ran a hand through his hair. “Just promise me.” He met Charles' eyes again, with a gaze so intense Charles nearly faltered in his resolve.

 

“I...I promise.”

 

“Good. Don't call me after tonight.” Erik braced one hand on an armrest and slid the other behind Charles' neck to kiss him, warm and needing, and Charles felt that familiar heat spread within him, even reaching his immobilized, and previously unfeeling, legs. He shuddered at the sensation and tangled his fingers in Erik's hair, trying to reduce the physical space between them. Erik teased into Charles' mouth with his tongue, deepening the kiss for what seemed to Charles like the briefest of moments before abruptly pulling back.

 

“The deal is struck,” Erik said quietly. “Goodbye, Charles.”

 

“Goodbye, Erik.” On a reflex, Charles looked around, but he already knew the demon was gone. He had the sudden sense that something important to him was missing, and he reminded himself that it must be the four years he had just given up. It couldn't be anything else, or anyone else, for that matter. Charles sighed heavily and began to wheel himself back up the gravel path.

 

~

 

Erik was distracted. He barely listened to the insipid demands of the woman before him, waving her off and giving her the standard ten year deal while his mind wandered back to Charles. Charles at sixteen, summoning him with chicken bones and an acne-ridden yearbook photo to ask for freedom. Erik shouldn't have even showed up, should have let the kid suffer until he grew up and learned to summon a demon properly. And yet...there was something about Charles that tugged at the hole where his heart should have been, telling him to answer the call. Erik had told himself that it was that latent mutation tucked deep within Charles' DNA that so enticed him, that caused him to offer a better deal than he'd ever given for a soul. But after Erik had dematerialized, drunk of the taste of Charles' mouth on his own, he couldn't deny the attraction between them.

 

The second time he answered the summons, Charles surprised him. He wanted to open a school for mutants, a haven for people like him. Like Erik had been, once. Erik had been so lost for so long, and for a moment, he wondered what his life could have been like if Charles had found him, invited him to stay at his school, showed him a better way. Maybe he wouldn't have killed, or been killed for that matter. He couldn't change what had happened to him, Erik knew, but he could make sure it didn't happen again. That was why Erik had found a loophole and given Charles the doctor. He couldn't help himself. He wanted Charles to succeed. Was that so wrong?

 

“So do I have to like, sign a contract or something?”

 

Erik blinked and stared at the girl. She was in her mid-twenties, blonde, conventionally attractive. He'd almost forgotten what she wanted at this point, and he didn't particularly care. “Deal are sealed with a kiss,” he replied. “You sure you want this?” He wasn't in the mood to do the seductive demon bit today.

 

“I'm sure,” The girl shivered and took a hesitant step forward. Erik quickly closed the distance an pressed a quick, chaste kiss to her chapped lips.

 

“We're done here. Enjoy your ten years.” Erik dematerialized, not caring if she was watching, and rematerialized at Xavier's School for the Gifted, now fully established and thriving in its seclusion. Standing in the shade of a massive Japanese maple tree, Erik watched a pair of children run past, laughing and passing a soccer ball between them. Further off, a group of teenagers sat on a set of wide stone steps, eating lunch and sharing study notes. While some of them could have passed for human, a few exhibited unmistakably physical mutations. Erik smiled in spite of himself, watching the group interact without fear or prejudice. He could sense Charles, deep beneath the mansion with his X-Men, undoubtedly briefing them on their next mission. The Brotherhood of Mutants was planning another attack, Erik knew, and the X-Men would be needed in Washington.

 

Erik was tempted to go inside, to walk the halls of the home that can never be his, to seek Charles out once his X-Men have left and kiss him before he can say a word, with no deal, no terms and conditions between them. He wondered how it would feel, not having to hold back, to be with the only person on earth that made him feel whole again. Erik frowned and turned away from the mansion, knowing what he wanted was impossible.

 

~

 

Erik felt the summons before the box was in the ground. Outraged, he materialized just inches from where Charles sat in the middle of the gravel path, his chair within reaching distance.

 

Erik ripped the box out of Charles' hand, and Charles looked up at him, startled. “What are you doing?”

 

“Don't even start with me, Charles,” Erik growled, pointing a finger in his face. “What did I tell you?”

 

“But I just--”

 

“ _What did I tell you?_ ”

 

Charles flinched, but answered quietly, his tone surprisingly steady, “You told me not to call you again.”

 

“You have a week left, Charles. A _week._ And this is what you choose to do with it? You've got nothing left to barter with, and I'm not making another deal with you.” Erik stalked over to the edge of the woods and chucked the little wooden box into the darkness. “You made a promise, Charles. Does that mean nothing to you?”

 

Charles stared vacantly at the hole he'd made in the gravel road. When he didn't respond, Erik stormed back over and crouched in front of him. “Well? What was so important that you had to call me a week before your time is up?” Erik demanded. “What could possibly be left?”

 

“You.” Charles looked up as he spoke, his eyes shining in the darkness. “I wanted you.”

 

Erik's eyes widened in disbelief. “What? Why?”

 

“Halve my life one more time if you have to, I don't care. I just...I want you for the time I have left.”

 

“Charles.” Erik dropped his knees to the ground and cupped Charles' face in his hands. Then, slowly, gently, he brought their lips together, and then Charles' arms were around his waist and nothing mattered except for this one, perfect moment. Afterwards, nuzzling Charles' jawline, Erik whispered, “I wasn't made for this.”

 

“Kisses without contracts?”

 

“Love.”

 

Charles started, and for a moment Erik thought he'd been too candid. “I didn't mean to fall in love with you,” Charles said finally.

 

Erik breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Neither did I.”

 

“Does this mean you'll stay?”

 

Erik sat back and shook his head. “I can't just disappear for a week. Someone is bound to notice.” Noticing the look on Charles' face, he added, “It's not like that, don't worry. I meant my boss.”

 

“Oh.” Charles bit his lower lip, thinking and then Erik was gathering him into his arms and standing up. “What are you—you just said--”

 

“I said a week,” Erik smirked. “But a night? I think I can get away with that.”

 

~

 

Later, curled up with his head against Erik's chest: “Are you going to come for me, at the end?”

 

“They send hellhounds for that.”

 

“Really?”

 

“No. I'll come and get you.”

 

Charles smacked Erik's bare thigh. “That wasn't funny.”

 

“It was a little funny.”

 

A pause, then: “Will I see you again? In Hell?”

 

Erik remained silent for a moment, stroking Charles' hair. “I will find you,” he answered firmly. “No matter how long it takes, I will find you again.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“I promise.”


	2. In Madness, Our Shadows Vanish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik has a promise to fulfil, but Hell has changed Charles more than Erik anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this would be a one-shot, but it turns out I needed to write one more chapter...and there may be one last epilogue or something after this as well. We'll see how it goes xD

_“I'm ready.”_

_Erik drew him close, Charles resting his head on Erik's shoulder while Erik stroked his hair. “It's going to hurt.”_

_“It's alri—hkkk--” Charles choked and shuddered against him, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth. He convulsed once, twice, and then stilled._

_Erik sat there, one clawed hand still gripping Charles' heart in his chest, continuing to stroke his hair for a long time, murmuring a string of soothing words even though he knew Charles couldn't hear him anymore. Slowly, carefully, he lowered Charles back onto the bed and lay down next to him, taking Charles' now lifeless hand in his own._

_“I will find you,” Erik whispered. “I promise.”_

~

Hell, Charles quickly realized, was nothing like he had pictured it. There was no fire and brimstone, for one thing. Instead, there were long hallways, sparse, modern prison cells, like the one he had woken up in, and women in spotless white power suits determining the future of his soul. The one sitting across from him now had introduced herself as Emma Frost, though he could barely tell the difference between her and the woman that had retrieved him from his cell. Emma immediately began sifting through his mind, picking up anything that looked interesting to her, and Charles was been careful to hide away anything incriminating about him and Erik.

“You were a telepath in life, I see. Seeking out mutants globally and collecting them in your own little 'school for the gifted'.” Emma laced her perfectly manicured fingers together and rested them on top of the file on her desk. “You know Charles, if you hadn't sold your soul, you might have made it upstairs instead.”

Charles nervously tugged at a loose string on his sweater sleeve. “So what are you going to do with me?”

“Anxious?” Emma smiled thinly. “Psychological torture, I think. That's where we send the telepaths.”

“So I am to be tortured, then.”

“Oh no, sugar,” Emma seemed offended by Charles' assumption. “You'll be doing all the work.” Charles moved to speak again, but Emma continued, “Think of soul collectors as a kind of...recruitment agency. Hell doesn't run itself, you know.”

“I'm being...employed? By Hell?” Charles couldn't believe it. Having to inflict pain on others for the rest of eternity was the literal opposite of what he had imagined as his fate.

“Basically.”

“And do I get a choice in the matter?”

“Oh, there's always a choice,” Emma replied. “You can work the victims, or you can be one.”

Charles wanted to refuse. He wanted to tell her to shove her proposition, that he'd take his punishment and be done with it. And yet...if he didn't take the job, someone else might. Someone far worse than Charles. Not to mention the possibility of freedom that the role might afford. If he wanted to locate Erik, he'd need to be able to move around.

“What exactly does this job entail?” Charles asked, absently running a hand through his hair.

“Smart choice,” Emma smirked. “Souls will be sent to you. You will torture them. And then, when you're satisfied with your work, you can send them away.”

“And how exactly am I meant to torture these souls?”

Emma shrugged. “Use your imagination. Make them relive their darkest memories, make them feel the pain they caused others in life, lock them in a psychic prison, make them dance until their feet are a bloody pulp, I don't care. Hell allows for a lot of creative freedom.”

“So I can do as I please, as long as I do as I'm told.”

“Precisely.” Emma opened the manila file folder before her and waved him off. “Now go. I have another appointment.”

Charles stood and followed the Cuckoo waiting for him out of the office and through a maze of winding hallways, generic office walls transitioning into damp, rotting brick into peeling 1950s wallpapers and so on, through hotel corridors and sewage tunnels until they reached a hall of padded walls and ancient, yellowing tile floors.

The cuckoo stopped in front of a steel grey door that almost seemed to be sinking deep into the walls. “Your victims will be delivered to you as per the schedule set by upper management.” Her voice was entirely devoid of emotion.

“Schedule?” Charles wondered if he would ever get used to the cold executive efficiency of Hell.

“A copy can be provided to you on request, however as you have no way to track the passage of time, it would be superfluous,” the Cuckoo told him. “Rest assured you will be kept quite busy.”

Charles placed a tentative hand on the metal doorknob. “How will I--” He cut himself off when he realized he was now alone in the hallway. “I guess it doesn't matter,” he muttered. “Right. No sense in putting this off.”

Charles took a deep breath and pushed the door open to find...Cerebro? Well, half of Cerebro, anyway. He stepped into a massive, domed room made of the same blue-chrome panels that he and Hank had used to construct the underground, spherical home of his mutant-locating technology. He walked over to the nearest wall and placed his palm flat against it. When he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend he was back home again. Charles could still hear his friend rambling on about improvements and enhancements for the Cerebro project, gesturing excitedly as he explained how to extend its reach even further.

Suddenly, Charles snapped to attention. He wasn't alone. Charles turned to face a confused, middle aged man, his disheveled charcoal suit stained with multiple bloodstains and some unrecognizable fluid.

“Where the hell am I?” the man demanded, looking frantically around the room. “What's going on?”

Charles almost laughed. “Where the hell indeed.”

_Give your guest a warm welcome, Charles. He's all yours._

_Trial by fire, then?_ Charles answered Emma's telepathic intrusion with a question.

_Were you expecting some kind of tutorial? Do as you like with him. Just make him suffer, or you'll take his place._

Charles pushed Emma out of his mind and focused back on his “guest”. “It seems you're to be my first.” Charles cracked his knuckles and raised two fingers to his temple.

The older man stared at him. “Your first what?”

“It's better if you don't know. Child abuse, really? Is this meant to be some kind of cruel irony?” Charles sat down on the floor cross-legged and beckoned for the man to do the same. “Let's get to know each other a little.”

~

The first victim was the most difficult. Charles had to stand up and sit back down multiple times, sometimes pacing, sometimes actively searching for the door that was no longer there, but always trying to rationalize his position. He had no idea how much time had passed at this point, but it was clear that neither of them was going anywhere until Charles did his job. This man had done horrible things to his wife, his children, and to his sister's children. He'd been worse than Charles' own stepfather, if Charles was being honest. He deserved to feel what he'd done to others over and over again, and to know that what he'd done in life was unforgivable in death. And yet at his victim's first cries of agony, Charles had to pull away. He wasn't someone who inflicted violence. His legacy for mutantkind was built on pacifism and tolerance, not the fear and hatred that so many of his students had to endure before calling his school home.

For the umpteenth time, Charles reminded himself of what he'd seen in that man's mind, of the pain that he had caused while he was alive. He reminded himself that if he just did his job, even the bare minimum, he could remain in one piece and maybe gain the small sliver of freedom he needed to look for Erik. He told himself that this was a necessary evil, and as such he would not take it any further than absolutely necessary.

Charles strode back over to the man still seated on the floor and sat down across from him for the final time. “Shall we begin?”

~

Erik was tired. He'd been wandering the endless labyrinth that made up Emma Frost's domain for what seemed like years, and he wondered if it felt the same to Charles. Time passed differently here; a week above could be a decade or more down here, with no constant but the endless stretch of eternity for all of Hell's inhabitants.

The file he'd nicked from Emma's office confirmed that Charles was in the psych ward, as the demons on the outside had colloquially named it. He knew it would be much easier to find if he asked one of the hivemind Cuckoos to help him, but he couldn't risk letting Emma know he was here. She didn't like anyone disturbing her workers. To that end, he was pleased to find that the helmet he'd used in life to protect his mind also functioned perfectly in Hell. As far as he could tell, no one had been alerted to his presence, and one of the Cuckoos had walked right past him, as though without his thoughts open to them, Erik was completely invisible.

The helmet was not without its disadvantages. The complex, as Erik understood it, functioned on telepathic connection. With his mind closed off, Erik couldn't tell it where he needed to go, and was forced to wander aimlessly instead.

When he turned a corner and saw the padded walls lining the hall before him, Erik did a double take. He'd found it. He'd actually found the so-called psych ward. Every featureless steel door sunk into the mattress-like padding looked exactly the same.

As Erik took a cautious step forward, he was immediately aware of which rooms held souls that he'd collected. There were at least four of them in here, perhaps more. He hadn't realized how many telepaths he'd picked up over the years. He took a moment to sort through them, quickly singling out the one soul he was looking for. Even at this distance, Charles felt somewhat...different, but Erik cast the thought aside. Hell was bound to change even the purest of souls, he told himself. What mattered was that they were together again, just as he'd promised.

Erik raised a hand and willed the steel door open before him. He stepped inside---nearly stumbled backwards in shock. Every single 3 by 5 foot wall panel showcased a grotesque act of violence, projected in the style of a vintage, sepia toned film reel. The screams of the victims on the screen filled the room, seeming to converge on two figures within its centre. Erik couldn't see the face of the one lying limp and helpless on the floor, obscured as it was by the creature crouched over it. Erik stood, frozen, as the crouching fiend bobbed its smooth, hairless head and muttered something inaudible to its prey.

"Charles?" the name left Erik's lips in barely a whisper, as if afraid of the response.

The demon whipped his head around to face Erik and grinned. His eyes were pure black. "Have I broken my new toy already?" Charles drew himself to his feet, limbs cracking and jerking back into the semblance of a human being as he approached Erik. The lifeless body behind him dematerialized, probably back to its original holding cell.

"Charles, It's me. It's Erik." Erik reached out to him, but Charles stopped him with a word.

"No." Then, "Sit."

Erik found himself doing exactly what Charles said, despite the helmet he was still wearing.

"Oh, that little trinket?" Charles snapped his fingers, and the helmet disappeared. "You won't be needing it here."

Erik watched helplessly as Charles folded himself into a cross-legged position across from him. "You're a demon. A dealer. What did you do to anger upper management, hmm?" Charles picked through his mind with reckless abandon, tearing out what interested him and tossing the memories up onto the now blank, blue-chrome panels. "Have you been bad, little soul collector? Is that why they sent you to me?" Charles pouted, watching scene after scene of Erik ripping out the hearts of the damned. "This is boring. Let's dig a little deeper, shall we?"

"Charles, stop, look at me--no!" Erik was yanked backwards onto an all too familiar operating gurney, leather straps cinched tight around his wrists, ankles, and chest. Charles had disappeared, and in his place the face of Erik's creator loomed over him.

"Der kleine Erik Lehnsherr," Sebastian Shaw smiled amiably at him. "I do apologize for the ceramic instruments, but with your power set one does have to be careful."

Shaw lowered the gleaming scalpel to Erik's flesh, and Erik began to scream.

~

"Music to my ears," Charles crawled up to Erik's side, watching him writhe and moan in imagined agony. "Your Sebastian really was quite the artist. I wonder if he made it down here?"

Erik's eyes fluttered open. "Not..real...Charles...stop..."

Charles cackled in amusement. "You think you're tough, do you? Don't you worry, this is only the beginning." He dove deeper into Erik's mind, drinking in his pain like a deprived addict as he cycled through years of deals and collections. Each one seemed to be done by the book, all except...

"Yours," Erik managed through gritted teeth. "Your deal was--nnnh--different."

Charles laughed again. "Nice try, demon. But I have always been this."

"No. Look." Erik took a deep, shuddering breath and shoved the memory of their first meeting to the forefront of his mind. Charles indulged him briefly, watching a bruised and battered sixteen year old boy make the deal for a better future.

"Boring," Charles yawned theatrically and discarded the memory, but Erik pushed another one forward, this one of their second meeting. The younger man, Charles admitted, did remind him of himself, not that he ever remembered having that much hair. "Will you stop with this nonsense? I'm trying to work."

He brought Shaw back to the forefront of Erik's mind, projecting the same scene of Shaw cutting Erik to pieces and putting him back together over and over again, from every possible angle, onto the panels. Erik shut his eyes against the onslaught, but Charles forced them open with a thought.

"Come now, this is my favourite part!" He declared, just as a cacophony of Erik's tortured screams echoed, amplified and overlaid, within the dome.

Erik forced himself to focus, to ignore all of the external stimuli that he was being forcefed. He refused to believe that this was all that was left of Charles. There had to be some good in him that Hell hadn't snuffed out. He starred to retreat back into his mind, to pull another memory forward, but Charles yanked him back again.

"Trying to sneak away, are we?" Charles leaned into him, breath warm against Erik's ear. "But darling, the show's only just begun!"

Charles body melted away before Erik's eyes, shifting into shadow before reforming as Sebastian Shaw. "Now," Shaw said amiably, running his fingertips lightly down Erik's forearm, "Where were we?"

~

Erik had lost track of how many times he'd been ripped apart and put back together by his tormentor. The figure at his side flickered occasionally, deliberately shifting at random intervals from the calm, calculating Shaw to Charles' chaotic, yet surgically precise madness. At some point, he stopped screaming. It only served to fuel the monster. Erik drifted in and out of consciousness, falling into the dark recesses of his mind and curling into himself. His body remained on the floor with Charles, no longer responsive to any of Charles' prodding.

Charles lifted one of Erik's arms and dropped it back down. It smacked the floor with a finality that Charles was quite familiar with.

"Have I broken another?" Charles sighed and drew his knees up to rest his chin. "Well, you should be very proud of yourself. You lasted longer than most."

_Thank you, Charles._

Charles cocked his head to one side. "Are you still in there?"

_Come in and see._

Charles grinned and slipped easily back into the mind of his prey. _You want to play some more, do you?_

_Something like that._

From the empty darkness of Erik's psyche, a scenic background began to form. Trees sprung up around Charles, lining the gravel path that he was now standing on. In the distance, Charles could just make out the silhouette of a huge mansion.

"Didn't I see this already? Is it all just reruns now?" Charles looked around, seeking and answer to the puzzle, his gaze settling on a lone figure sitting in the gravel in front of a motorized wheelchair. "That's not me," Charles shook his head, backing away from his twin. The memory's version of Erik joined the scene, shouting angrily at not-Charles before collapsing in front of him.

"That's not me!" The real Charles was shaking now, unable to avert his eyes from the pair before him.

_Are you certain?_

Not-Charles was kissing Erik now, and Charles raised two fingers to his lips, feeling the ghost of a memory on his skin--Erik's mouth on his, Erik's arms around him, holding him, ripping into his chest--

"NO! What are you doing to me?" Charles tore out of Erik's mind and scuttled away from him, clutching the sides of his head as he curled against the furthest wall. A string of nonsense flowed from his lips, eyes wide and unseeing.

Erik sat up slowly, his head throbbing. He could scarcely believe his gamble had worked. If it hadn't, if Charles had found him first, he would have been undone for good. Erik stood and cautiously approached Charles, who was now rocking himself back and forth, intermittent spasms racking his body. He moved to place a hand on Charles' should, but Charles lashed out and shoved him backwards.

"Don't touch me!" Charles screeched, and Erik raised both hands in surrender. "No one touches me. Get him out give me a new toy I don't want this one..."

As Charles rambled on, Erik realized he was trying to get him removed by upper management. He had to do something quickly before Charles succeeded.

Erik knelt down in front of Charles. "Listen to me very carefully." To his credit, Erik's voice didn't waver once. "A long time ago, I made a promise. I told you I would find you, and we would be together again. Do you remember?"

Charles' head jerked up, neck cracking as he cocked his head sideways. His eyes, Erik noticed, were a pure, unsullied blue. "Erik?"

Erik nearly cried with relief. "Yes, Charles. It's me."

Charles blinked, and his eyes were black again. "I can't--I can't--"

The steel door slammed open a few feet from the pair, and they both flinched. Emma stormed into the room, and the door remained open behind her.

"What the hell is going on in here?" she demanded.

"What the hell indeed?" Charles responded, and then, to all of their surprise, he began to laugh. When Emma glared down at him, he coughed and shrank back again. “It's funny,” he offered meekly. “Or ironic, something like that.”

Emma turned her attention to Erik. “Lehnsherr,” she spoke his name as though it left a bad taste on her tongue. “How did you get in here without me knowing? You know what?' She raised a hand to stop whatever Erik was about to say. “I don't even want to know.”

Erik drew himself up to his full height. “I want him transferred out of here.”

“You broke into my office, stole my files, reduced my best telepath to this--” she gestured at Charles, still on the floor and mumbling to himself, “and now you think I'll just give you whatever you want?”

“He's of no use to you now,” Erik countered. “You don't need him anymore.”

Emma shook her head. “Please. He'll recover, once you're gone.”

Erik stalked up to her, his face only inches from hers. “You took everything that was good in him and tore it to shreds. Your version of recovery will make him a monster.”

“That's what Hell is for, sugar.” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You're quite attached to this one, aren't you?”

“I collected his soul. I know he deserves better than this.”

“Then you shouldn't have damned him in the first place.”

Erik started to speak, but thought better of it and took a step back instead.

“Giving up so easily? Is it because you know I'm right?”

“I'm not going to stand here and argue with you,” Erik told her. “We both know that if you expel me from your realm, I'll just come back again. I won't care how long, or how many times, it takes. I will keep coming back for him, because I love him. And don't give me that smirk, I can feel you sneaking around in my head.”

Emma crossed her arms. “What do you propose?”

“The Persephone contract.”

“You've got to be kidding me.”

“Think about it,” Erik persisted. “Six months above, six months below. And, as per the ancient laws, mortal time must be used as the marker since there's no uniform system down here, so you'll still have him for a longer perceived time than I will.”

Emma seemed to be mulling it over, and Erik waited in silence. “Fine,” Emma agreed. “If it'll keep you out of my hair, I will consent to the terms of the Persephone contract. And as per the agreement, You may take him immediately. Your time begins the moment your feet touch mortal earth.”

On cue, one of the Cuckoos materialized at Emma's side holding a letter sized sheet of vellum and a silver needle. Erik took the needle first, piercing the tip of his thumb and pressing his blood into the paper. He passed Emma the needle and she did the same. “Have fun carting that around on your collections.”

Erik glanced behind him and frowned. Another soul had been sent for torture, and Charles was already crawling towards her, trailing his fingers down her cheek. “Such a pretty girl,” he cooed. “But I bet your mind isn't.”

While Emma and the Cuckoo dematerialized, Erik took Charles by the arm and pulled him away from his victim. “Leave me alone,” Charles tried to shake him off, but Erik dragged him to his feet.

“We're leaving,” Erik said firmly. “Now.”

“But I'm hungry,” Charles whined. “Her thoughts look so delicious. Let me have her.”

Erik dematerialized them both to the roof of his apartment building without a word and released Charles from his grip.

Charles did a full 360 and shuffled to the edge of the roof. “What is this?”

“Your home for the next six months,” Erik replied. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Charles frowned. “I don't like it,” he announced. “It's too crowded in my head here. Take me back.”

“No.”

Charles balled his hands into fists. “I said, take me back.”

Erik started forward, ready to obey, but something stopped him. The laws of the Persephone contract were stronger than Charles' will, he realized. He wasn't allowed to bring Charles back before the six months were up.

Charles threw his hands up in defeat and sighed. “Fine. But I'm still hungry. Can I have one of them?” He pointed down at the steady flow of pedestrian traffic.

“You're lucky I love you,” Erik sighed heavily and moved to Charles' side. “No, Charles, you can't have one of them. They're still alive. You don't get them until after they're dead.”

Charles made a face. “You're no fun. Why do you get to make all the rules?”

“Why are you listening to me?”

“Well, because...because...” Charles trailed off, his eyes flicking to their original blue for a split second and back again. He shivered and stepped closer to Erik. “I'm cold. Why am I cold? I'm dead. Am I dead? I think you killed me. I'm so hungry, Erik let me have one, just one I'm losing it I'm losing myself,” and Erik was kissing him, holding Charles tight against him like he was afraid that Charles would push him away, but Charles relaxed against him, letting him in, letting the kiss deepen, letting this moment happen.

“You found me,” Charles murmured against Erik's mouth. “But I'm not me anymore.”

“We're together now. That's all that matters.”

“I'm sorry for torturing you.”

“It's alright.”

“And also for feeding on your pain.”

“You don't need to apologize. You weren't yourself in that room.”

“I mean right now,” Charles clarified. “When you kissed me. You won't let me have a human,” he added sheepishly.

Erik just chuckled and went to kiss him again, but a tug on his insides gave Erik pause. “I'm being summoned,” he said. “Someone wants to make a deal.”

~

“Ooh, I like this one, Erik,” Charles was circling the young man like a predator, and no doubt doing the same inside of the poor kid's mind. “Can I have him?”

“Charles, we've talked about this,” Erik explained, a hint of amusement colouring his tone. “The living aren't your playthings. Wait until after he's sold his soul and been collected.”

“Mm. Do you think upper management takes requests? He's done a lot of terrible things, you know. They'd look so deliciously horrifying projected on my walls.” Charles returned to Erik's side and laced their fingers together, jet black eyes still focused on the boy. He couldn't be more than 19, Erik surmised, not wanting to rifle through his head with Charles probably still in there. He was clearly afraid to do or say anything with Charles looking at him like he was is next meal, and Erik was simultaneously aroused and disturbed by his companion's behaviour.

“What exactly do you want?” Erik asked the boy.

“I—uh--I'm a little more concerned about what he wants,” the boy nodded at Charles, who had tightened his grip on Erik's hand at the sound of an 18 wheeler lumbering across the freeway bridge above them.

“I don't like these noises,” Charles mumbled. “It's too crowded.”

“I know, my love. We'll be home soon.” Erik addressed the boy again, who appeared completely baffled by the pair of demons. “Come on, out with it. What is so important that you need to sell your soul?”

“I want my family's company back. It was supposed to be mine, and my mother gave it to my younger brother out of spite. I want my mother out, my brother out, and to be sitting at the head of my rightful inheritance as CEO.”

“And by out you mean...”

“By any means necessary. If I never see them again, it'll be too soon.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you're a self-entitled little shit?” Charles smiled sweetly at the boy.

“Family murdered, head of a company,” Erik summarized, ignoring the boy's discomfort. “Fine. In exchange, you get ten years.”

“That's it?”

“Take it or leave it. Going once...”

“I'll take it!”

“Of course you will.” Erik strode over to him, Charles still holding his hand and following close behind. “Contracts are sealed with a kiss.”

“I'm not a homo.”

“I don't care.” Erik grabbed his chin between thumb and forefinger and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Time to go, Charles.” He brushed past the boy and led Charles back down the road leading towards the city.

“Can I have his family?”

“No.”

“But killing them is part of the contract!”

“Fine. But don't play with your food. You can do that when they make it to your department.”

“You never let me have any fun.”

~


	3. Epilogue(s)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a few slices of life after death as Erik and Charles find their way together. Cue a grab bag of fluff and angst and blood and a just a little implied smut >.>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much to everyone who's been reading and commenting and leaving kudos so far! I ended up getting really immersed i writing this really fast, and I may throw a few ficlets based on this into my previous deserted 30 day writing challenge later as well because I can't seem to leave these two alone xD

**Epilogue: Year 1**

 

Charles was alone. He was back in Hell, lying on the floor watching his own mental projection of the night sky against the domed ceiling. It wasn't the same without the fresh air, the great expanse of the universe above him and Erik's arm resting against his as they lay on the rooftop together, watching the stars and listening to the constant hum of city life far below.

 

He sensed the newcomer before he heard the sound of her stilettos clicking noisily towards him. He wasn't, generally speaking, supposed to get physical with his victims, but he was getting increasingly tempted to stab this one with her obnoxious, pointed heels. Charles sat up and and stretched, catlike and lazy, while the woman tried to speak, and seemed shocked when nothing happened. Charles had already cut off the speech centre in her brain, assuming her voice would be just as annoying as her shoes.

 

“Take of those godawful shoes and have a seat,” Charles told her. “Your timing is perfect. I'm starving.” He cracked his neck first, then his knuckles. It was time to get back to work.

 

~

 

To be honest, Erik was expecting to start from scratch. Another few decades torturing souls were bound to take their toll, tearing down all of the progress that he and Charles had made together. He materialized into Charles' domain expecting the worst, and barely had time to take in the wall to wall projections of gory violence before Charles was on him, grasping the front of his black button-down shirt and kissing him hungrily. Then, lightning fast, Charles dematerialized them both from one end of the room to the other, where his current victim was unsteadily rising to his feet.

 

“I've been practising,” Charles announced proudly. “Am I faster than you? I bet I am. Here, come and look!” Charles tugged at Erik's arm, coal black eyes gleaming with excitement. “You'll like this one.”

 

Erik watched Charles animatedly describe the murders he'd made his guest relive over and over again, picking and choosing his favourite details to throw onto the panels for an instant replay. The old Charles was gone for good, Erik understood that now. He blinked and realized that Charles was staring at him expectantly, waiting for a response.

 

“Hey, are you listening? Come on and play with me!”

 

Erik shook his head with a smile. “You are insatiable, you know that?”

 

“And after this, you can take me to see the stars.” Charles continued, as if Erik hadn't spoken. “The real ones, not like these.” He gestured to the ceiling, and Erik glanced up to find a flickering projection of the night sky high above his head. The constellations, he noticed, were the same as the ones he'd shown Charles during their last night together.

 

“This is your memory.”

 

“Mmhmm. I had to put it somewhere so I wouldn't lose you. It. The sky. Um. I need to finish him before we go.” Charles turned back to his prey, who stopped, frozen by Charles' will, and crumpled to the ground. “Things are...scattered. When I'm hungry.”

 

Erik had loved Charles then, hoping and working for a better tomorrow. And he loved him now, with dreams replaced by pure, unfettered desire. Erik had loved him when he'd watched Charles explore his mutant powers for the first time, and when Charles had used them to tear Erik apart. None of it mattered, not when Erik could see the way Charles felt for him, in the sky projections above, in the fierceness of Charles' kiss, in the way he clung to Erik's hand like a lifeline. Black eyes or blue, Charles was his, now and always.

 

“Shall we, then?” Erik nodded towards the body lying in a heap on the floor.

 

Charles flashed him a maniacal grin and closed his eyes, dropping them both into the bloodstained memories of their prey.

 

~

 

**Epilogue: Year 4**

 

Charles didn't understand why the blue, furred mutant before him was staring at him like that. He didn't understand why Erik kept glancing at him sideways, apparently looking for some kind of reaction. He just knew that Erik had promised to let him collect the next soul, and this beast of a mutant was it.

 

“Ch-Charles? I mean, uh, Professor?” the beast stammered. “Is it really you?”

 

“Do I know you?” Charles narrowed his eyes, pretending to think. “I doubt it. Everyone I know is dead.” He turned back to Erik, who was watching the exchange with interest. “Bored now. Is it time to kill him?”

 

“Professor, its me--”

 

“Charles hasn't been quite the same since I killed him,” Erik interjected nonchalantly. His offhandedness caused Charles to erupt into peals of laughter. The corner of Erik's mouth twitched, as if he was trying not to do the same.

 

“You don't remember any of it? Building Cerebro, creating the X-Men, the legacy you left behind?”

 

Charles shuffled over to the beast and peered up at him. “We were good friends, weren't we? All those years working together...I helped you control that rather ostentatious mutation of yours too, I think. You fought for my dream every day, helping to bring mutants together for a better tomorrow.”

 

The beast's face lit up with renewed hope. “You do remember!”

 

Charles shrugged and flashed him a capricious grin. “Nope. I'm just messing with you.” At the beast's crestfallen expression, Charles added, “you do know I'm psychic, right?”

 

“What have I said about playing with your food?” A hint of amusement coloured Erik's tone.

 

“I'm not feeding on this one. Rule one of soul collecting, right?” Charles raised his hand, willing his fingers to elongate into razor sharp, black tipped claws/

 

“You really have been listening.”

 

Charles ripped into the beast's chest and pulled out his heart in one smooth motion, instantly fascinated by the still beating heart in his bloody grasp. “They don't let me do this downstairs.” While the corpse of his supposed friend collapsed to the ground, Charles watched the heart beat once, twice, and then stop altogether. “I can see why you like this so much. It's so...what's the word? Visceral.”

 

Erik nodded at the heart. “Are you going to keep that?”

 

“I don't deal in the physical.” Charles handed it to Erik, who immediately tore into it with jagged rows of shark-like teeth. “Besides, I love watching you eat.” He brought his now human fingers to his lips, humming contentedly as the fresh blood hit his tongue. When Erik's head snapped up at the sound, his eyes were nearly as black as Charles' own.

 

With a low growl, Erik snatched Charles' hand and sucked his fingertips into his mouth. “Mine.”

 

Charles pressed himself flush against his lover, shamelessly grinding against Erik's arousal. “I'm all yours.”

 

~

 

**Epilogue: Year 9**

 

Erik liked to think he'd become used to Charles' erratic behaviour. He had learned how to read Charles' many moods, and he was well aware that calm was rarely among them. That was why, when Erik found Charles sprawled on the floor of his room, motionless and gazing up at the blank panels of the ceiling, he knew immediately that something was wrong.

 

As Erik move to kneel at his side, Charles' hand shot up and seized Erik by the arm. “Finally.” Charles pushed unceremoniously into Erik's mind, tearing into his most painful memories with practised ease. “I'm famished.”

 

Erik endured the onslaught in silence, gritting his teeth as Charles took what he wanted, but when Charles showed no sign of slowing down, Erik began to push back. “That's enough.” When brute mental force didn't work, Erik switched tactics. “Charles, what happened---hnn--what happened to your sky?”

 

Charles blinked and released him, and Erik sat back on the floor, just barely out of Charles' reach. “She took it away.”

 

“Who? Emma?” Erik scowled. “What did she do to you?”

 

“She made me undo a Cuckoo.” Charles shuddered and turned over, curling onto his side. “It misbehaved.”

 

“But those hivemind creatures are soulless. There's nothing for you to feed on—oh.” That was why Charles was so fatigued. He had done all of that work for Emma with no reward.

 

“It took so long,” Charles moaned. “Disconnecting it from the others, and then ripping it apart layer by layer. I hate telepaths.”

 

“Okay.” Erik gathered Charles into his arms.

 

“What. Are you doing. Put me down.”

 

“We're leaving.”

 

“But I have to fix my sky. I can't remember where the stars go.”

 

Erik materialized them both into his apartment and gently laid Charles onto their bed. Until Charles, he'd never even used the thing. “Rest now. Try and sleep.”

 

“I don't sleep.” But Charles closed his eyes anyway when Erik tucked him under the black duvet. “Are you staying? Don't leave me alone. I'm always alone.”

 

“I'm not going anywhere.” Erik removed his shoes before slipping under the blanket with Charles. When Charles rested his head against Erik's chest, Erik's breath caught in his throat. Charles tensed for a split second as well, perhaps remembering a moment just like this one, a lifetime ago now.

 

“Erik? Can we go and see the stars later?”

 

“We can go anywhere you want, my love. Anywhere at all.”

 

~

 

**Epilogue: Year 20**

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“You'll see.”

 

“I can see right now if I want.”

 

“Stay out of my head, Charles. Just this once.”

 

Charles rolled his eyes. “Boring.”

 

“Here we are.” Erik had stopped in front of an impressive looking headstone, which, if the fresh flowers and burning candles were any indication, had been visited very recently. Charles caught up to Erik and read the name “Charles Xavier” carved in a stoic, serif font.

 

“Is this mine?”

 

Erik nodded. “It's pretty high quality, too. Mine wasn't half as nice.”

 

Charles stared at the headstone, noting the birth and death dates, and the latin phrase below it. “ _Omnia mutantur,”_ he read aloud.

 

“ _Nos et mutantur in illis_ ,” Erik finished.

 

“All things are changing, and we are changing with them,” Charles translated, surprising himself. “How did I know that?”

 

Erik didn't answer, instead producing a bottle of champagne and two glass flutes from the paper bag he was carrying. “It's twenty years to the day since you died.”

 

“You mean since you killed me. Come on, you can't leave that bit out,” Charles teased. “It's the best part.” He walked up to his grave, stepping gingerly over the fresh flowers, and hopped up to sit on the stone, legs dangling a few inches above his body's final resting place. He accepted the glass of champagne that Erik offered him and grabbed the bottle as well before Erik could protest.

 

“We have to pour a little out for the dead, right?” Charles tipped the bottle at a 90 degree angle, letting the golden, fizzing liquid stream out onto the grass under his feet. “You know, I've never had champagne before. And now I finally get to try it over my dead body.” He laughed. “There should be ta punchline in there somewhere. Is that my school?” Charles nodded at the massive estate just down the hill.

 

“Do you want to go and see it?”

 

Charles shook his head vehemently. “No. No. Definitely not. I haven't been near it for the last 20 years—is that really how long it's been? I swear it's been longer. I've got to have torture at least a few centuries worth of the damned by now.”

 

“Time is different in Hell,” Erik reminded him.

 

“Right. Well. I haven't been there all this time and I'm not starting now. Not when I've finally figured out how to work and be in love at the same time without going entirely mad. Most of the time. I think. No need to throw any human memories into the mix.”

 

Erik leaned in and kissed him softly, catching Charles of guard. “Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?”

 

“You're in love with me.”

 

“Obviously. Why else would I obey your stupid rules about killing and torturing and doing literally anything fun? Would you stop grinning at me like that? It's unnerving to see you looking so happy.”

 

“It's your own fault.”

 

“Fine. I take it back. Forget I said it. I know I will—” and then Erik's lips were on his again and Charles couldn't think, didn't want to think anymore.

 

 _Love you._ The words were a whisper into Charles' mind, and Charles returned them without hesitation.

 

_Love you too. Always. Even when I'm not me, I'll be yours._

 

They parted for a brief moment, just long enough to clink their glasses, spilling a little more on the grass in the process. “To another twenty years,” Erik's free hand remained snaked around Charles' waist, keeping them linked together.

 

“Another twenty years,” Charles echoed quietly. He'd never admit how much the future scared him, with his unstable mind and memory lapses converting every experience into another puzzle piece to be shuffled and displaced. Erik was the one constant in his life, the one thing he could always depend on. And maybe, just for now, that was enough.

 


End file.
